


Rabbit

by strikecommanding



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Death, Domestic, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Reader-Insert, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikecommanding/pseuds/strikecommanding
Summary: You're not sure if you managed to bring out a killer's soft side, or if his own predisposition to violence had rubbed off on you.





	Rabbit

You felt like a passenger in your own body as your mind checked out and pure instinct clocked in, navigating through the forest to escape the killer’s clutches and find a safe haven. What started as a fun evening took a turn for the absolute worst quicker than you could even process. Just a moment ago you sat around a roaring fire with your closest friends, sharing stories and laughs and counting the stars. Now you were doing anything to save your own life, even if it meant leaving those same friends to die.

Altruism wasn’t a factor in your own self-preservation. You needed to move.

There were a number of ways to ensure your survival and your mind cycled through them all. The most obvious but also the most difficult way was to leave the forest altogether and find the closest town. You and your friends had come here from the city, having left your rented van just outside the woods. It would have been your best bet out of here if only you had the keys, or at least knew the location of the dead body that did have them.

Combing the woods for a single corpse didn’t seem doable with a killer stalking around so you quickly went to the next scenario. You could keep running, put as much distance between yourself and the maniac as possible, but that would only be an option for so long. No amount of adrenaline pumping through your system could keep you running all throughout the night. You needed to find some place to catch your breath, or at this rate you’d end up dead from exhaustion before your pursuer could even get to you.

You’d been running away from the campgrounds for some time but you slowly crept back towards the cabin once you realized you needed rest. The killer had long since chased your group out of the area and sent you all running off in different directions; surely he wouldn’t think to return here. After making sure the coast was clear, you quietly slipped past the half-destroyed door and ran up the stairs. There, you locked yourself in one of the bedrooms and finally allowed your body to collapse.

The mattress springs squeaked and resisted your weight as you sank into them, finally feeling just how much your body had been through. While the killer had never quite gotten his hands on you, you were still pretty banged up just from running through the wilderness. Inexplicable cuts and bruises adorned your sweaty skin and you felt like you could throw up from the exertion. To offer your aching abdomen some comfort, you pulled your legs up onto the bed and curled on your side, attempting to even out your breathing.

For the first time since this nightmare started, your fight-or-flight instincts took a step back and returned the reins to your previously checked-out mind. Now that you had the downtime to think about everything that happened this evening, you thought your brain would cave in on itself. In rapid succession it presented you with brief flashes of all the horrors you’d seen, the worst of them being the looks of fear and disbelief on your friends’ faces when you willfully abandoned them in favor of your own survival. While it was simply your self-preservation instincts kicking in and you hadn’t made the conscious decision to proceed without them, you still felt responsible.

You’d watched them die. You’d _let_ them die.

That crushing realization drew a sharp sob from deep within your throat, rattling your bones and making your chest heave. The sound was so loud compared to how silent you’d been up to this point that you couldn’t help but slap your hands over your mouth. Still, your turbulent emotions demanded to be known as you cried into your palms, body trembling from more than just a cold sweat. Your friends might have still been alive right now and you wouldn’t have to be dealing with this alone, but you ran. You ran when you could have stopped to help them and that truth would be hanging over your head for the rest of your life. The only comfort you had was that you didn’t seem to have much longer anyway if you didn’t start moving again soon.

Just as you pulled your weary body to stand, a noise rang out from the first floor and turned your blood to ice. It sounded like what remained of the front door was broken through, and the heavy thudding footsteps that seemed to be drawing nearer upstairs confirmed what you dreaded: the killer was inside the house.

Holding your breath, you carefully crossed the room to the large dresser in the corner. It would be a tight squeeze but there was nowhere else to hide. Nowhere else to run. You tucked yourself into the bottom shelf, curling your legs up against your chest and saying your prayers.

The killer’s footsteps seemed to grow louder and faster as the minutes passed, perfectly in tune with your rapidly beating heart. It reverberated so deeply within your ribcage you almost worried he would be able to hear it, but then your mind became void of anything that didn’t directly relate to your survival once you heard the door yield to the force of a violent kick. The noise came so abruptly you nearly jumped out of your skin. All was quiet for a moment, as if he was scanning the room to see if he couldn’t just find you in plain sight. Then he began moving around. You could hear him on the other side of the room, likely checking under the bed or by the desk. His search obviously came up empty, and then you heard him start approaching the dresser.

Tears fell from your eyes faster than you could compose yourself. You were as good as dead.

Any second now the dresser door would be ripped from its hinges and you would be exposed to him. Or maybe he’d put that hatchet to use and strike you down without even letting you out. Either way, you would probably die slowly. You were the sole survivor of your group and you couldn’t imagine that he would just give you a swift and merciful death. Once you died the game would end, and he seemed the type to enjoy playing with his food.

After a prolonged moment of silence and of you cowering with your hands over your head, your dread was reaching a peak you didn’t think you could handle anymore. If he was going to get you, you wanted him to do it already. Then you thought he might want you to come to him, like a lamb with no choice but to limp to the slaughter. You swallowed hard. If it was a choice between going to him and facilitating your death, or waiting helplessly until he decided to go in and kill you himself, you thought you’d rather speed up the process. There was no one in these woods for miles who could come and help you anyway; you’d made sure of that by abandoning your friends. That thought was just another reason for you to want to bring about your own death as soon as possible. You hoped your friends would forgive you in the afterlife.

Slowly, you pushed the dresser door open just a pinch so you could peek out and assess the area. You’d expected him to be standing there already, hatchet or chainsaw in hand and ready to strike, but all you saw was an empty room. It would have been foolish to assume you were alone so you tried to examine your surroundings at every possible angle, looking in every corner for the killer’s imposing silhouette. But he wasn’t there.

As you pulled yourself out of the closet and to stand on wobbly legs, you felt a second wind of hope and optimism blow through you. Maybe he hadn’t known you were here after all. Maybe he left and continued stalking through the woods in a fruitless effort to find you. His absence meant you’d be free to continue your trek through the forest and to the main road, where you might be able to find someone who could help you. It was too soon to count yourself out just yet. As long as you were breathing, you would keep fighting for your life.

After searching the room for anything you might need along the way, such as weapons or first aid, you went for the doorway. One step into the hall and your previously soaring heart fell down to the pit of your stomach.

A blood-splattered hockey mask tilting to the side was the last thing you saw before you were brutally struck over the head, and your exhausted body collapsed in on itself and onto the floor. You could vaguely make out a pair of heavy boots stepping in front of you as the world resolved itself in a blur of motions before abruptly going dark. You heard a deep voice before you blacked out entirely.

“Sweet dreams.”

\---

When you woke up, you didn’t believe you were still alive. But you were in too much pain to have been ensnared by the numb grip of death, so you started focusing your energy towards figuring out where you were. It was morning, evident in the blinding sunlight that greeted you the moment you opened your eyes. You instinctively raised your arms to block it out, but you found you couldn’t move. Your wrists were secured by tough rope to opposite ends of a rusty old bed frame. As you squirmed in place, you realized the rest of the room wasn’t in such pristine condition either.

Since you couldn’t get up and walk around, you looked over your surroundings from your place in the bed in the corner. While the room was too small and barren to be a part of the cabin you’d been staying at with your friends, you could assume that you were currently in _some_ sort of cabin. Whose cabin, you didn’t know nor were you feeling brave enough to ask, but the answer to your unspoken question soon came walking through the door.

Your heart seized in your chest at the sight of the killer, still covered in dried and crusted blood. As he crossed the short distance between you and him and loomed over the bed, all you could think about was how you’d been right. The sick fuck was so interested in playing with his food that he brought you to what was likely his own dwelling, allowed you to sleep off the previous night’s fatigue, just so he could kill you the moment you woke up. Or maybe even torture you. Even after all the rest you’d gotten, you couldn’t find the energy to scream or beg for your life. Instead, as you stared up at his expressionless face, all you could do was cry.

He tilted his head, either in an attempt to observe you from a better angle or because the sight of your tears confused him. Regardless, he took just one last look at you before pointedly looking down at whatever was in his hands. You followed his gaze, expecting to see a weapon, but instead you found he was holding a bowl. He stepped close enough for you to see that it was some sort of stew and you were too confused to react when he eased you up into a sitting position.

You were far too vulnerable like this so you didn’t even think about fighting him. Survival was equal parts brains and brawns, and knowing when one was more appropriate than the other. Right now, the smartest thing you could do was be cooperative and give your body some nourishment.

The man pulled up a shoddy chair and sat beside you, bringing a spoonful of stew up to your lips. You blew on it softly before taking it into your mouth and down your throat. It was bland and you shuddered at the chunks of unidentifiable meat, but it warmed you up. You became more tolerant and even eager for it as he continued feeding you. When the bowl was empty, you realized just how much gusto you’d eaten with and you couldn’t help but be a little embarrassed. For a moment you forgot you were speaking to the man who killed all your friends and only spoke to him as the man who fed you when you were starving. “Thanks.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was quiet enough in the room that you could have heard a pin drop. He nodded but didn’t make a move for the door, instead continuing to look you over. Now that you had some food in you and your previously slow-to-start mind was beginning to wake up, you had to ask.

“Are you going to kill me?”

That question practically had him standing at attention, his spine straight and his shoulders back. With his physique, he almost looked like a soldier. You looked back into those emotionless orange sockets and tried to keep your breathing steady, but there was little you could do to contain the tears threatening to spill again. He was quiet and motionless for so long you thought he was just going to ignore you, but then he gave his answer by shaking his head. You didn’t know if that should have given you relief or not.

So you decided to ask him another question. “Why?”

His gaze dropped to his lap and his pale fingers flexed around the bowl, like you’d asked him something so difficult to answer he couldn’t help but fidget. When he abruptly stood and went for the door, you thought he would ignore you this time. Then, just before he slipped out, you heard him murmur, “I don’t know yet.”

\---

With few words exchanged between you both on a day-to-day basis, it took some time for you to learn that the man’s name was Jack. He hadn’t even been the one to tell you; rather, you got a closer look at the dog tags dangling from his thick neck the day he suddenly walked up to you and grabbed you.

You still remembered how the experience made your heart stop. He’d charged at you with such intent and determination that you thought he’d finally decided it was your time to die. Pleas for him to stop didn’t even make it out of your throat before he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.

It was an uncomfortable position, but it was bearable when you realized he didn’t want to kill you. All he wanted was to hold you. Up to that point you’d never fought him and you certainly weren’t about to start. He was never violent with you before and you wanted to keep it that way.

His gaze and deep breaths were impossible to ignore, so you tried to focus all of your attention on literally anything else. That was when your wandering eyes found the tarnished metal discs between his pecs and you decided to study them. While his first name was clearly printed, his family name was ruined as if it had been scratched out. The only other bits of information you’d learned were his social security number, his blood type, and his religion. You remembered being shocked that a man like this once identified as Catholic.

This routine of appearing before you unannounced and pulling you into his arms became a common thing for Jack, occurring at least once a day if not multiple times in one day. And every time you let him, even occasionally leaning into him or placing your hands on him like he did you. Your fingertips would skim the ripped fabric of his shirt and feel for his heartbeat, a startlingly subtle sensation. In combination with his cold, washed out skin, this seemed to suggest exactly what you’d been thinking for some time: Jack wasn’t entirely human. His history and origins and how exactly he’d turned into this were all of great interest to you, but you never asked for fear of rocking the boat.

While you hesitated to speak to Jack, he didn’t seem to experience the same qualms. He was quiet because he wanted to be quiet, but he would speak up when there was something he wanted to say. One of his most prominent remarks came about two weeks into your captivity with him. “You remind me of a rabbit.”

Just hearing that gritty voice cut through the usual silence made you flinch, but the actual content of his sentence made you shiver. You’d seen the dozens of skinned and cooked rabbits that filled the crude kitchen in his cabin and you wondered if that was supposed to foreshadow something. He appeared to be waiting for a response so you managed, “How?”

You flinched again when his palm came up to the back of your head and stroked all the way down to the ends of your hair. He repeated this motion in a bit of a clumsy manner, like his hands weren’t used to performing something so gentle. Orange ether rose up from his mask as he thoughtfully gave you his answer. “You’re small and you’re always shaking. Like you’re cold… or scared.”

That, you didn’t know how to respond to. So you just kept quiet, staring up into the sockets of his mask and allowing him to keep petting you. Slowly, you lowered your head to his chest so you could listen to the soft, barely-there beats of his heart. Your actions gave him pause for a moment but he resumed his motions soon enough. You even felt his other arm tighten around your waist to better hold you against him.

After that exchange, you couldn’t help but notice that the presence of rabbit carcasses in the cabin slowly went down until he stopped bringing them back altogether.

\---

Weeks became months and you grew more accepting of your situation. You’d seen Jack display his physical capabilities once before and you could go lifetimes without having to witness them again; the best way to ensure that was to stay quiet and stay put whenever he went out doing… whatever it was he did when he went out. Though you had a pretty good guess what he was up to whenever he returned to the cabin covered in blood that wasn’t his own.

There wasn’t much for you to do in the cabin while he was away – not that you did anything other than cuddle when he was here – so you had to entertain yourself with whatever means were at hand. A few weeks ago Jack showed you to an eerie-looking cellar on his property and brought you down with him. There, you saw piles and piles of bags that belonged to hikers and campers who were unlucky enough to cross his path. He’d had no use for their things beyond cookware and certain tools so he thought you’d want to look through the rest. At first, you were horrified by the sheer number of backpacks he’d managed to collect so you refused to touch them. But it didn’t take long for your humanity to give way to boredom and your desire to clean off the grime that had accumulated on your skin. Any time you didn’t spend wrapped up in Jack’s arms was put towards sorting through dead campers’ belongings and picking out what you liked.

Your favorite thing to find was hair products. In your old life you took great pride in having long, healthy hair, but its upkeep had suffered significantly once you lost the autonomy to care for it as you had in the past. Consequently, you practically hoarded every travel-sized bottle of shampoo or conditioner you came across, keen on using them whenever Jack took you out to a nearby lake to bathe. You still weren’t allowed to go there by yourself.

You sat cross-legged in the center of your shared bed with Jack, a mess of backpack contents strewn in front of you. All the hygienic items were sorted by their uses: hair products, skin products, and oral products. You set aside the specific items you planned on using later once Jack came back to take you to the lake.

The front door of the cabin burst open and you didn’t even flinch anymore, instead calmly directing your attention to Jack as he entered the bedroom. This time he returned with three hikers’ backpacks, all of which were shucked to the ground as he made his way towards you.

The sight of him covered in blood no longer scared you, but you still found the smell to be nauseating. Your nose crinkled as he quickly approached with the intention of wrapping you up in his arms. Before he could get close enough, however, you extended a hand to make him keep his distance. He went still, half-ready to pounce, and remained in that position as you put together a bag of products you wanted to use. He straightened up once you slid off of the bed and took hold of his clean hand, saying, “Let’s wash up first.”

Jack just stared silently at you before nodding and letting you lead him back out into the woods. You couldn’t recall when you started to oppose him, or what had given you the courage to start in the first place. Of course, you’d never outright denied him or refused him; you’d simply started putting conditions on some of the things he wanted to do with you and he was surprisingly fine with it. At some point you’d learned better than to assume Jack was just a tyrannical sociopath who did whatever he wanted. He seemed to care about you to some degree and therefore he cared about what you thought and what you wanted. He even seemed curious sometimes, like he just wanted to learn about you.

Most of that learning happened through silent observation, and you could feel his gaze most intensely whenever you went out to the lake together. Initially you’d been so uncomfortable you couldn’t even wash up properly, but then you grew accustomed to his constant presence and invasive stare. All he did was watch anyway so you were able to shed your discomfort and simply go about your business.

Once you both reached the lake, Jack stood at attention and waited for you to make the first move. You started by removing his jacket and surveying the damage. It seemed no more dinged up or bloodied than it usually was when he went out on his excursions, and it would be especially easier to clean since the blood was still wet. One soak in the water and the blood began flowing off of it with ease. Then you examined his shirt, which was considerably stained and torn right down the middle. Idly playing with the ruined hem, you looked up and said, “There’s more shirts at the cabin.”

Jack just nodded and pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. You pretended not to be distracted by the sight of his impressive abs and instead moved on to his pants. To your surprise and delight, they didn’t seem to need much cleaning but they could still use a soak. You tugged the waistband of his pants as a gesture for him to remove all his holsters and bandages so he could join you in the water when he was ready.

Turning away from him, you began undressing yourself. Your clothes weren’t necessarily dirty but you figured you might as well wash them along with Jack’s. Now bare, you turned back towards the bag you brought and caught a glimpse of Jack’s head swiveling the other way, like he was trying to hide the fact that he’d been staring. That he’d even had the courtesy to feign manners got a fond exhale out of you. You retrieved a small bar of soap and got to work on washing the clothes.

You did what you could to get the blood out before leaving them to soak. Now you could focus on yourself, crouching down and lying in the water to wet every inch of your hair. When you emerged, you went back to the bag and fished out a matching set of shampoo and conditioner. With a quarter-sized amount of product you formed a lather in your hair and worked the tension away.

After you applied conditioner and wrapped your hair up in a bun to let the products set, you looked back at Jack. He’d only just unbuckled his hatchet because he’d apparently been too interested in watching you. You tilted your head. “You coming?”

It took him a moment but he eventually nodded and fully undressed. He hesitated to remove the mask right away before swiftly pulling it off of his face, like ripping a bandage. By now you were more than aware that he had a few reservations about showing you his face so you avoided staring. You kept your eyes level with the large scar on his chest as you cupped water in your hands to wash the blood off of him. His muscles flexed beneath your touch when you dragged the soap bar against his skin, foaming up suds in its wake. You allowed yourself one tiny peek at his eyes and found him already staring at you.

The eye contact made you return your attention to cleaning the blood off of him. But just looking away wasn’t enough to make you settle so you thought to try to make conversation with him. “You can clean yourself, can’t you?”

From the corner of your eye you observed him nodding. You tried to watch his scarred lips as he replied, “It feels better when you do it.”

That was a cheekier answer than you were expecting and you wondered if that was even his intention. Either way it brought a tiny smile to your face and gave you enough courage to look up. The sight of him really took your breath away. You could not, for the life of you, figure out why he was so adamant about hiding his face from you.

Once Jack was taken care of, you finished washing off your body and your hair. While you preferred to take your time in the lake he seemed eager to get out as soon as possible, like a cat with an aversion to baths. He reached into your bag and fished out one of the two towels you packed so he could dry off. He had yours ready for you once you finished up as well.

“Thanks,” you said, moving to take it from him when he abruptly jerked it away. You looked at him, confused, but then he made a gesture that said he’d dry you off himself. Maybe he wanted to pay you back for cleaning him up. Regardless, you accepted his offer and watched him pat you dry with as much care as a super soldier turned undead serial killer could manage.

When he finished, he reached back into the bag and pulled out the comb you’d brought along. He looked between it and you before ultimately settling his gaze on you and asking, “Can I?”

That he even wanted to go so far as comb your hair caught you off guard, but you didn’t refuse him. He spread his towel on the ground so there would be room for the both of you to sit, with you curled up between his legs. You worried he wouldn’t be gentle enough with your hair but he was surprisingly careful, taking a small section in one stiff palm and combing it through. He took extra care in removing any knots and smoothed down the areas he finished with as he went along. It was such a soothing process that you leaned back against his chest, an action that momentarily gave him pause. You looked back over your shoulder just the slightest bit. “What is it?”

Jack resumed with an expression that reflected how focused he was. “You’re shaking.”

You hadn’t even noticed until he pointed it out. You contemplated your answer for a moment before finally coming up with, “I’m cold.”

He moved in closer to you in response, trying to hold you against him while still combing your hair. You backed up as well so you could feel his cold body close around you. It didn’t warm you up in the slightest but it at least felt nice. As you sat together in the silence, you wondered when Jack’s presence stopped being a source of fear and became a comfort instead.

\---

In time, you’d become something of a dutiful little homemaker. Before you entered his life, Jack’s cabin solely served a purpose of utility; now, most of your days were spent making it feel more cozy and lived in. With what little you had, you were able to mend the old and worn furniture and use animal skins to make blankets, especially useful as the seasons shifted to a chilly autumn. Currently, you busied yourself with preparing a hot meal for Jack to come home to.

You jumped when the front door burst open, and you whipped around to see Jack breathing heavily as he shambled in. The sight of him coming home covered in blood had long since ceased to bother you but you’d never seen him look so disheveled or worked up before, and you worried that some of the blood was his own this time around. You went to him quickly and tried to help him stand upright, but he seemed adamant on leaning most of his weight on you. Ignoring the blood that got on your clothes, you asked, “Jack, what happened? Is this yours?”

He shook his head no, indicating that he wasn’t hurt but he was still unable to settle down. He kept trying to drape himself on you even though you weren’t strong enough to hold him, so you eventually sank down to the floor with him. Grunting and breathing hard, he pulled you up into his lap and held you so tight it was like he was going to lose you. Jack was clearly in need of your presence right now and you didn’t want to deny him, but you still had to clean him up. You could just barely reach a damp rag you’d been using while cooking and started to wipe the blood away, but there was so much of it that the cloth quickly became saturated with scarlet. The whole time, his thick arms squeezed your waist as he practically rocked in place with you.

Seeing him so worked up and not knowing why was distressing, so you tried talking to him again. “What happened? What’s gotten into you?”

Jack’s breaths sounded so harsh and labored from behind his mask, prompting you to gently pull it off of his face. Immediately he rested his head against your shoulder, his nose nuzzling the crook of your neck as he tried to explain himself. “…Got away. I was hunting lost hikers… and one of them got away.”

At this point you were still fruitlessly trying to clean the blood off of his face, but you gave up when you realized you were basically just rearranging the stains. Now you held his cheek with just your hand, stained red from your previous efforts, and stroked his scruff in a soothing motion. “It was only one. It’s okay.”

He shook his head again, slower now since he refused to remove his face from the side of your neck. “I never let a kill get away before. _Never_.”

So it was a matter of pride then. You didn’t judge him; killing had long since become a way of life for him and you knew better than anyone else how good he was at it. But maybe it was more important to him than you’d initially thought because he really couldn’t relax, his body trembling with rage as he held you against him. “Jack, you’re shaking.”

He sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed you tighter, almost to the point that it was painful. Quietly, he murmured, “He’s going to go to the cops. They’ll know I’m here. I’m… scared they’re going to take you away from me.”

His voice sounded so terribly small it made your heart ache. You’d never known Jack to be scared of anything, but to hear that what scared him the most was the thought of losing you made the discovery that much more jarring. It was sad but it was sweet, and you wanted to assure him that you intended to stay right here with him. Just as you started to speak, his thigh parted yours in such a way that the friction made you moan. That sound got his attention right away, and you took that opportunity to cup his face between your palms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He was looking at your lips as you spoke, and something told you the only thing on his mind was the sound you’d just made. Experimentally he moved your crotch against him again and found a similar effect, so he kept going until you reached down with a trembling hand to stop him. Jack’s pale gray eyes were brimming with more emotion and liveliness than you’d ever seen in them before as he reached up to hold your face, his thumb smearing blood across your cheek. “Promise me,” he murmured.

You nodded as you held onto his wrist and nuzzled his palm. Meanwhile, your restless lower half resumed grinding against him. “I promise.”

Your idle movements caused your knee to press against his groin and it pulled a groan from deep within his throat. You paused. He was hard. You often wondered to what degree Jack was still alive and this certainly gave you some measure. To know that he desired you in the same way you wanted him gave you the courage to slowly lower your lips to his. He didn’t react to you right away, instead sitting stock still and simply letting you kiss him. But as you eased into the contact and wrapped your arms around his neck, he started to get more into it.

He was quick to open his mouth and let your tongue slip inside, and you whimpered as he gave you just the slightest nip. Knowing that a man as savage as Jack could be gentle with you sent a delightful shiver up your spine, a sensation that was made to last as his bloody hands slipped beneath your sweater and stroked up and down your sensitive skin. You shivered and moaned into his mouth, emphatically grinding down against him to further work yourself up. Feeling your warm thighs clamp down and tighten around him made him grunt and suddenly push you down, reversing your positions so your back was on the cabin floor and your legs were on either side of his wide frame.

A cold, rigid hand reached down to hold yours while the other pushed your sweater up to expose your torso. You didn’t even feel the cold as you flushed under the heat of his stare, and from the fact that this was your first time being intimate with someone in a _very_ long time. He moved to slip you out of your pants and you wiggled your hips to assist him. Once you were bare beneath him, you watched his pupils dilate and his mouth fall open just the tiniest bit as awe crossed his face. With your free hand, you reached up to urge him to take his own clothes off and he hurriedly got to work.

Jack only got as far as removing his jacket and ripping off his shirt before lowering himself back down to you, his forearms slamming against the wooden flooring to cage you beneath him. His kiss was hasty and needy, and his lips only remained on yours for a few seconds before he started moving lower, wanting to taste the skin of your décolletage. As he sucked on your stiff nipples you felt a hand slip between your feverish thighs, and the contrast of his cool fingers against your cunt made you buck up into his touch. He, too, seemed surprised by how hot and wet you were but that wasn’t to say he was averse to it. He was eager as he sank in one, two, three fingers and began pumping them in and out at a pace that made your toes curl. You reached up to grasp his bicep and you could feel his muscles flexing as he worked you to a quick orgasm.

Arousal leaked out of you and made your velvety insides that much slicker, and as you threw your head back and moaned you were vaguely aware of the way Jack was staring at you, committing your blissed out expression to memory. Coming once made you realize just how starved you were for skinship, for the feeling of another body against and inside of you. Too worked up to slow down now, your hand shot out to grab the waist of his pants and wordlessly beg him to take them off.

He understood you perfectly. His pale hands almost looked clumsy with how much he rushed to undo the zipper and pull out his hard, leaking cock. As he stroked himself vigorously to relieve some of the pressure, you couldn’t help but lick your suddenly dry lips. You’d seen him bare before from having shared a number of baths with him in the past, but you’d never seen him this aroused. Proportionate to the rest of his large body, he was _big_. Ordinarily you worried you wouldn’t be able to take something so big, but you were so wet and needy for him that such a fear didn’t even cross your mind. Besides, you knew he would be gentle with you. You trusted him.

You spread your legs wider to give him easier access to your dripping cunt, biting down on your bottom lip at just the feeling of him rutting against you. His cock was just the slightest bit more flushed than the rest of his body as what little blood he did have circulating inside of him all went straight to his core, warming him up and almost making him feel human. The tip kissed your wet, puffy labia as he parted them and slowly eased in, grunting like a wild animal as your welcoming heat tightened around him. He moved slowly until your body accepted him entirely, and he took that moment to bottom out and pepper your face with the softest kisses and nips.

The stretch wasn’t painful like a part of you worried it would be. It felt just right, like you belonged in his arms with him inside of you like this. Once you were comfortable, you held his cheek and idly rubbed at some dried blood that ended up just beneath his eye. “Move, Jack.”

Now that he had your permission, he intended on making the most of it. He kept a tight grip on your waist so his hips could punch into you, thrusting in with enough force to pound against your cervix each time. It made you jolt and cry but more from pleasure than pain. Feeling him like this made you aware of just how much passion he had for you, how after all this time you’d become someone entirely different from the hapless victim he’d discovered all those months ago. You had a place in his barely beating heart and you wanted to stay there.

His hands slowly slipped from your waist with every wild thrust until he re-positioned himself on his forearms, lowering his chest as close to yours as he could without crushing you. Your hands flew to his shoulder blades while your legs wrapped around his waist, feebly attempting to slow him down so you could savor this closeness. Having you cling to him like this only seemed to make him move faster as he came undone with a guttural groan.

You yelped as he fucked you through his orgasm, each harsh movement frothing up his release until it oozed and bubbled out of you. He gave a few more deep and slow thrusts to ensure that you’d milked him dry before pulling out, slumping back and looking you over to see if he’d accidentally been too rough with you in his passion. You weren’t hurt but you were spent, reaching out towards Jack in a silent request for him to pick you up and carry you off to bed. He instantly complied.

He looked like he wanted to clean you up but you were too anxious to be separated from him. It seemed he shared your sentiments as it didn’t take much for him to settle in bed with you, holding you in his arms and forgetting about his troubles for at least one night.

\---

The both of you carried on normally for the next few days, hunting for game and prepping the house for the coming winter. But there was a disturbance in your routine one evening when Jack insisted that you join him on one of his hunts, leading you out into the woods with a gentle grip on your hand.

You walked together in silence for some time, and you were unsure of where he was taking you but you trusted that you’d be safe with him. His body language was relaxed, confident, but when he started to crouch down low and hide himself in the brush, you mimicked him. He looked at you with a finger pressed to the mouthpiece of his mask. Then, he looked out into a clearing and you followed his gaze.

Flashing red and blue lights stunned you, as it was your first time seeing artificial lights after months of relying on little more than sunlight, moonlight, and fire. Once your startled eyes adjusted, you recognized them as the lights sitting atop police cars. One by one officers shuffled out of the vehicles, and you counted six of them. Fear gripped your heart as you turned to Jack, realizing he was right to worry about his last victim getting away.

But when you looked at him and saw how self-assured he was, you could feel the fear melting away. He pet your head affectionately and reached down to his thigh, unholstering his hatchet and handing it to you. It looked so small and light against his leg but now that you held it for yourself, you realized it actually had some weight to it. You glanced back at him just in time for him to lean his forehead against yours.

You closed your eyes and let his even breaths calm you down. Before he could pull away, you leaned in to kiss the mouthpiece of his mask. The motion made him rumble with delight.

You leaned into his touch as he continued petting you, squinting and smiling with your eyes. As long as Jack was here with you, you knew nothing could hurt you. Certainly not a group of bumbling cops stupid enough to enter your shared domain.

Jack looked at you and hummed, satisfied. “You’re not a rabbit anymore. You’re a wolf.”

**Author's Note:**

> more at strikecommanding.tumblr.com!


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